


Rhoynar Queen

by Zi_Night



Series: Elia Week [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Elia Fests, Elia Martell Centric, Gen, Hostage Situations, POV Elia Martell, Political Alliances, Rhoynar Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zi_Night/pseuds/Zi_Night
Summary: Day 6: Queen Elia"It made sense that people refused to speak about the northerners when she learned that Aerys was burning people alive for his own amusement. She had to wonder if her husband knew about this development, or if he had been as blissfully ignorant as she had been. If he had knowingly run away from the atrocities his father was committing. The thought had filled her with anger and she had decided that she would not be complicit in the Mad King’s crimes, no matter her circumstances."
Relationships: (Background) Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell & Brandon Stark, Elia Martell & Rhaella Targaryen
Series: Elia Week [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950721
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Rhoynar Queen

She picks her dress carefully. She normally isn’t the type to wear multiple dresses on a regular day, but today was shaping up to be an irregular day. She mournfully eyes her Dornish dresses. She hasn’t been able to wear those since she arrived in King’s Landing, and now is definitely not the time to pull them out. Still, it would be so nice to be able to wear those again. _Maybe that day is sooner than I think._ “Mama, why are you going?”

She stops what she is doing and moves over to where Rhaenys is perched on the edge of her bed. She leans forward to cup her daughter’s face. “Because I need to, little sun.” Rhaenys sticks her bottom lip out and she fights the smile pulling at her lips. “I don’t plan on eating too much, so if you want to wait we can all eat together later. But this may take a while so feel free to eat without me as well.”

Rhaenys overlaps her little hands over hers. “I’ll wait mama. I’ll always wait for you.” This time she doesn’t resist the smile and presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

She rubs her thumbs against her daughter’s cheeks and then steps back over to her dresses. She passes over her more ornate dresses. Ignores the dresses with glittering beading, the ones with lower necklines, the ones made of sheer fabrics, and the ones colored with vibrant colors.

She settles on a dark, modest, wool dress. A dark blue instead of black because all her black dresses are much more lavish than she thinks is appropriate, with long sleeves and a neckline that covers her collarbones. Confident that this one will do, she calls Aegon’s wet nurse over to help her put it one. Mira laces up the back of her dress for her, she makes sure she has everything she needs, and she informs Mira that she will try to be back as soon as possible.

Mira is the only one of the woman under her command who she had kept at her side, but it had been because she didn’t have much of a choice. She hadn’t regretted the decision to send her ladies and her servants away when she was forced to come back to King’s Landing, _I still don’t_ , but a part of her wishes that her nurse, Corissa, was here. Under normal circumstances, it would be odd for a lady to keep her nurse by her side for so long, but Corissa had been more than just a nurse to her.

When she was born, there had been serious concerns over her health since she had been born so early. When she had first gotten sick, back when she was small enough that she could rest fully on her mother’s forearm, her mother decided that she would take no risks. The moment they had discovered her fever, he mother had sent to the Greenblood for a healer to tend to her.

The Orphans had sent back Corissa, a young woman who had been from a nameless colony on the Greenblood. They had sent Corissa not just because she was a prodigious healer but because she was also a prodigious water witch. Corissa had treated her illnesses with old Rhoynar techniques and with the slight touch of magic she could manage this far from the Mother Rhoyne. Not only had Corissa treated her, she had also taught her about the Rhoynar and some of the Rhoynar’s water magics. She would appreciate Corissa’s assistance in this moment, but she would have to manage with what she knew.

She arrives at the dining hall while the servants are still preparing the space. Even though so few people attended these diners, the staff was still expected to make this grand room as pristine as possible. When she informs the steward that she will be eating with the king the man blinks blankly at her, before rushing off to prepare a seat for her. She doesn’t blame the man for being confused, it was common knowledge that King Aerys did not respect her and that only those who _had_ to attend these diners attended them. As the staff goes bustling around, she asks someone to bring her an empty pitcher. She pours her flask of water into the pitcher and waits for everyone else to arrive.

Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys are the first to arrive. Much like her, Queen Rhaella has also settled on a modest, black dress slashed with some red at the seams. The queen wears a carefully blank look, the kind that a person wears when they don’t want to be where they are but knows that they can’t visibly display their displeasure. Prince Viserys has a nervous energy to him, like he is trying to suppress the childish energy inside of him but is failing at it. Rhaella embraces her when she arrives, and Viserys peers at her from behind his mother’s skirts, but they don’t say anything to each other, it wasn’t worth the risk.

King Aerys arrives, with Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold in tow, not long after them, which is very fortunate because the meal was not allowed to begin until the king arrived, and Aerys was known to arrive whenever it pleased him. There had been several times where the meal had never begun because Aerys hadn’t bothered to show up.

The king’s early arrival means that this meal will only be for the four of them. Once Aerys arrived no one was allowed to enter and interrupt his meal. As the unkempt and shriveled king sits down, servants begin to rush out with platters of food and drink. Everyone present knows to wait until Aerys acts before acting themselves. They wait until he sits to sit, they wait until he has served himself before they serve themselves, and they wait until he has asked to have a drink poured before doing the same. The one exception is that they are allowed to begin eating before Aerys begins eating. If they were forced to wait for Aerys to begin eating they may never eat at all.

King Aerys is the only one that speaks during the meal. His ranting and raving and stories and baseless giggles are only answered by hums, one word answers, or silence from everyone else present. It was simpler that way, speaking meant opening yourself up to Aerys’s attention, and likely anger. Still, there are moments when one must take the risk.

The king’s usually inattentive eyes hone in as Rhaella fights a wave of nausea at the smell of the plate put before her. Both she and Rhaella know the source of this nausea but she couldn’t blame the queen for wanting to deny what should be so obvious to her. The little flicker of cruelty she can see building in Aerys’s eyes are enough for him to momentarily forget his paranoia and the man brings his wine cup up to his lips. Aerys’s interest in Rhaella withers as he smells the wine in his cup. The man puts his cup down so quickly that the wine in the cup sloshes over the rim onto the table, his lips curling in a sneer.

There is a tense moment of silence, that she decides to break. “Your Grace,” he much preferred to be reminded that he was her king instead of her goodfather, “would you like some water? Its clean taste is much less obtrusive on the senses.” It had taken some thinking for her to figure out how she could tell Aerys that the drink wasn’t poisoned without openly saying it. In a move she learned from Oberyn, she takes a sip of her water to further illustrate her point.

He stares her down and she does her best to look meek and demure. She’s starting to worry that she had made a misstep and has instead incurred his wrath, when he lets out a disdainful sniff. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She bows her head and quickly gets out of her chair. She finds an empty cup and pours the water into the cup. When she sits back down in her chair she makes sure to take another purposeful sip of her water.

He doesn’t take a sip of his drink right away, she didn’t expect him to. Aerys had been half fasting due to his paranoia for longer than she had been here. Even when the king was sure that the food he was eating was safe, his appetite had been so compromised by his pervious behavior that it took him a long while to eat whatever he felt comfortable eating. Instead the man goes back to babbling about whatever occurs to him in the moment. As he talks, she drifts off and begins to think about why she is here.

When her husband disappeared, without announcement or warning, Aerys had immediately summoned her back to King’s Landing. It had only taken a day of his son being unreachable for Aerys to decide to take her hostage and only a few more after that for her to be dragged back to the Red Keep. No more than a week after Rhaegar’s disappearance did the rumors about why her husband vanished start. There were many rumors, some more creative and fantastical than others, but the one that was whispered about four times more than every other was the rumor that her husband has whisked away a young Lyanna Stark. That rumor was cemented as truth when Brandon Stark and a group of northerners came down from Riverrun, right before the man’s wedding, to confront Rhaegar on stealing his sister. If the man had not been so hasty, he might have heard that Rhaegar was nowhere near King’s Landing. King’s Landing had been abuzz with gossip when her husband disappeared, but the city was silent after the northerners’ arrest and any mention of it was not met with gossip but with prayers to the Seven.

It was these prayers that convinced her to act. She was willing to admit that she was a pious woman, _privately since her goddess was not that respected on this continent_ , but there were very few topics she could imagine being so disquieting that she would only want to pray about them. It had taken a lot of prying, which only made her even more concerned, but eventually she learned about why people refused to speak about the northerners’ arrest.

Learning about what had become the king’s justice was nauseating and she quickly understood why people thought it unspeakable. It made sense that people refused to speak about the northerners when she learned that Aerys was burning people alive for his own amusement. She had to wonder if her husband knew about this development, or if he had been as blissfully ignorant as she had been. If he had knowingly run away from the atrocities his father was committing. The thought had filled her with anger and she had decided that she would not be complicit in the Mad King’s crimes, no matter her circumstances.

In a stunt befitting a younger her, from back when she was just as mischievous as Oberyn, _if not more so_ , she decided to sneak into the dungeons. It had been disturbingly easy sneaking into the dungeons. With the aid of a loyal guard her brother had assigned to her, who she sent ahead to speak with the chief gaoler, she snuck into the dungeons. The emptiness of the top two dungeon floors was a testament to the king’s crimes. A silent reminder that Aerys had killed everyone who was supposed to be in here. As unsettling as it was, it did make her sneaking easier.

When she enters the black cells, she finds a roster near the entrance that lists where all the current captives are. She finds the man she is looking for and heads to the door. Before she enters, she knots her skirts above her knee, picks the lock of the door, and pulls a torch off the wall. The door is lighter than she imagined it being when she pulls it open.

It is a testament to how handsome Brandon Stark is that he still looks handsome after being left to rot for more than a week in the black cells. The man’s grey eyes trail up the length of her exposed legs before looking at her face. It is a compromise she is alright with. The cell floor is covered in debris and she would rather he gets to see her legs than accidently be given away because she didn’t notice something was clinging to her skirt. Brandon raises a curious eyebrow at her, but she turns around to close the door and puts the torch on the wall. When she turns back around Brandon has leaned back against the wall and she is mildly impressed by how much the man can pull off the casualness of that stance considering he is chained to the wall.

“If I wasn’t so painfully aware that I was awake, I might think I was dreaming.” She ignores him and eyes the slack on his shackles. After realizing that the answer was next to none, she steps further into the room and crouches in front of his crossed legs. As she roots through the pack on her hip, she can feel his eyes on the bits of her thigh that were exposed by her crouch. His eyes stray to the side as she begins to set things on the floor beside her. “It seems a little too late for that, princess.”

The way he says princess rankles her, but she only hums in response. She sets the still warm loaf of bread on her lap as she opens the tin of salt she brought with her. The bread tears easily between her fingers and she dips it into the salt before taking a small bite. She dips the bread in the salt again and then holds it to Brandon’s lips. He stares at her, his light eyes framed by dark lashes and somewhat covered by greasy black hair, and she stares right back. After a moment, he leans forward and bites a chunk off the bread. He chews slowly and when he is done he hesitantly leans forward for another bite. She doesn’t snatch her hand away or mock him for the action, it may only be bread but it must be worlds better than whatever gruel they are feeding him, _if they were feeding him at all_. She feeds him the other half of the loaf when he finishes what she had in her hand. She is pretty sure the only reason he doesn’t lick the salt off her fingers is because some of his dignity has returned to him.

Once he finishes the bread, she recaps the salt tin, puts it away, and then grabs the flask on the floor. She takes a sip of the wine inside before holding the flask to his lips. She lets him get a good few swallows before pulling the flask away. At his look, she tells him, “I need your wits about you, Stark. I’ll let you finish the rest before I go.”

“You may be the first person to express interest in my wits.”

She straightens her back and says, with a bit of formality, “In accordance to the laws of guest right I, your host, recognize you, and your companions, as my guests.” Brandon licks the wine off his lips and nods his head. She appreciates that the man didn’t make the unnecessary observation that her being his host meant little when he was someone else’s hostage. “I came here to make you a deal.” He raises his eyebrows at her but doesn’t interrupt. “Before we begin, I want to make it clear that, regardless of what you say, I guarantee you your life and that I will do everything I can to save the lives of your companions.”

For a moment, there is only the sound of them breathing. He tilts his chin up slightly once he understands that she is serious. “I understand.”

“Good.” A part of her wants to stall, to fidget and hesitate, but overall her resolve is steeled. “The deal I am here to make is for the outright support of you and your family for King Rhaegar.”

Brandon scoffs. “And what could you possibly offer that would get me to _tolerate,_ much less _support,_ your traitor of a husband.” It seems even a week alone in a dark room was not enough to break the Wild Wolf’s spirit.

“I guarantee that your sister goes home with you.”

Brandon’s mouth twitches and his eyes harden into icy chips. “Where else would she go,” he growls like the wolves House Stark is known for.

She hardens her heart and tilts her head to the side. “Oh? You don’t think she would prefer a comfortable life in King’s Landing as the king’s concubine? Rest assured that it would be a comfortable life. In Dorne, we have no issue with paramours and I would make sure that Rhaegar lavishes your sister in gifts and attention.”

She doesn’t flinch when Brandon lunges forward and rattles his chains. She absentmindedly makes note that she gauged the slack of the chains well. “Watch your tongue. My sister is a girl and what your husband has done to her is criminal.”

Her temper flares and she leans forward to match him. “Most of them are girls when it happens. At least with Rhaegar your sister got to make the choice.” She didn’t know any details about what had happened, but she knows that Rhaegar despised his father too much to follow in _those_ footsteps.

Brandon bares his teeth at her but she talks over him anyways. “You are a fool if you think Robert Baratheon was going to wait for your sister to mature before taking her maidenhead. Robert Baratheon is not known for his patience, if anything that man is known for taking what he wants without remorse. No doubt, your sister weighted her options and took the gentler choice.” The words are cruel and she is not sure she entirely believes them, she doubts that Lyanna was in a position to make an informed choice _out of youth or circumstances,_ but she needed Brandon to agree to this deal.

They stay nose to nose for what feels like a long while. Neither of them wants to be the first to back down. Brandon as a point of pride, her as a point of necessity. Eventually, Brandon relents and she can feel his angry exhale fan across her jaw.

“You came here to make a deal, so here is my deal. You make sure that Lyanna comes home, and I’ll convince my father to support King Rhaegar, even after this slight. But instead of swearing fealty to Rhaegar, I swear fealty to _you_.”

She’s impressed that he managed to catch her on the back foot. She should have known better than to believe that he was as simple as he made himself out to be. “Why?”

“Nothing you can offer would be enough for me to pretend to like Rhaegar. And I will not risk swearing blind servitude to your careless, wretch of a husband.” His disdain for her husband is clear in tone alone. “But I am willing to swear fealty to you.” It’s her turn to warily stare at him until he continues. “You strike me as a capable woman, who does what needs to be done and thinks through what she is going to do. I would rather take you, who seems to care about honor and traditions, and doesn’t seem likely to abuse my fealty.”

She thinks through these new terms. They aren’t that different from her original terms and could be, functionally, the same. It was unconventional and it could cause her some issues if spun the right way, _but the Wild Wolf of House Stark was precisely the person who could get away with unconventional_. She looks over Brandon’s face one last time before concluding that the man was very serious. “I accept these new terms.”

Brandon nods his head. “When you get me out of here, you can have me make this oath in front of a heart tree. But since we are in here, I’ll make the oath in way of the Seven.” Brandon Stark tilts his head back slightly. “I am your man.”

She takes his jaw in her hand and presses a chaste kiss against his lips. When she draws back she says, “I take you as my man.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the seriousness of their situation settling around them. As Brandon slumps back against the wall, he says, “I look forward to seeing how you make your husband king.”

“Who said I was going to do anything?” She feeds him the rest of the wine in the flask and leaves the cell. Even if he had sworn fealty to her, it would be safer to obfuscate any involvement she had in what was to come.

Aerys recaptures her attention as he brings his cup of water up to his lips. If this didn’t work she didn’t know what she was going to do. She had been confident that it would work when she first planned this scheme, and a part of water magic was confidence, but now she starting to doubt. She wasn’t even sure if the spell Corissa had shown her would poison the water, she had never wanted to test it on someone and part of the spell was that it didn’t affect her. But even if the spell did work, it required water from the Rhoyne river and all her water from the river was in the pitcher before her. If it took more than a cup’s worth of exposure she would have to find another way to kill Aerys. But if this was enough, no one would ever know the king had been murdered, much less who had done it.

She can’t hear anything over the sound of her beating heart every time Aerys raises his cup to his lips. And she feels lightheaded after the first few sips the king takes. She manages to relax the further into the meal they get. There is still the undercurrent of stress that comes from any interaction with Aerys, but the feeling of being caught fades into a tiny hum in the back of her head, that she can only feel when she seeks out the feeling.

By the time Aerys calls the meal, she thinks he may have finished his cup of water, but it’s hard to know since he never asked her to refill it. She makes sure to drink the rest of the water herself. She absently wonders what assassins do with excess poison.

As with every other aspect of this meal, they don’t stand to leave until Aerys stands to leave. Given permission to go, Rhaella takes her son’s hand and leaves as quickly as she can. Aerys half loiters as he looks over the food he was offered, no doubt trying to see if he could find something to be angry about. With the man distracted, she sidles up to Ser Gerold. He looks at her and waits for her to speak. “Lord Commander Hightower, do you think it would be possible for Ser Jaime to accompany me back? I was planning on taking my children out to the gardens and you know how much my daughter enjoys his company.”

Ser Gerold’s eyes flicker from her to Ser Jaime. Jaime Lannister was a good knight, with great potential if she believed Arthur, but his face was far too expressive to be guarding someone like Aerys. There was no doubt in her mind that Ser Gerold knew that Jaime hated Aerys and she hoped that he wasn’t cruel enough to force the man to remain at his side. Ser Gerold bobs his head in a nod and silently motions Jaime over.

The knight stands at attention before them. When Hightower informs him of his new assignment, the young knight sends her a blatant look of relief and she can’t help the small smile that comes over her face. Before Aerys can notice that she has stolen away his favorite hostage, she and Jaime whisk out of the dining hall. She appreciates how little of a fuss Hightower made, it was important that she separate Lord Tywin’s son from the king before he died.

Her daughter is delighted by the appearance of Jaime and even more excited by the idea of a picnic outside. Mira loads the food she prepared for her return into a basket, she finds a blanket large enough for all of them to sit on, and she has Jaime carry some of the other things they might need. They end up in the godswood, if only because the godswood has some of the best trees for shade. They eat and then she basks in the summer sun, listening to the giggles of her daughter as Jaime chases her around the space. When she goes to sleep that night, she almost forgets that she had a scheme in motion. Almost.

She wakes up early in the morning, much earlier than she would prefer. It is not particularly unusual, she tended to have trouble sleeping whenever the aches of her body were particularly fierce, but that’s not the reason for her early rising. For all that Westeros was on the cusp of falling apart, it had been a very good month for her pain wise. She wakes up early because she expects to need to wake up early, but instead she lays in bed an extra hour and nothing happens.

So, she goes through her morning. She goes out onto the balcony and writes letters to the rising sun. One to Doran to assuage his anger with the crown, one to Oberyn that she needs to send to Doran to send to Oberyn because she doesn’t know where in Essos her younger brother is, one to Corissa to reassure her that she is well, and one to Ashara because she misses her dearly. Once the hour is more reasonable, she heads out to find her children. She goes to Aegon first, because her son tended to wake up earlier than his sister, before going to Rhaenys. They manage to eat breakfast and sit around in her solar together, before someone comes to get her. One of Queen Rhaella’s attendants informs her that Rhaella requests her presence in the small council’s chambers.

When she arrives, Queen Rhaella is in the room with the rest of the small council. She hasn’t interacted much with the small council, but she knows that, according to Rhaegar’s complaints, most of the men in this room are a bunch of sycophants. All except for Ser Gerold, Varys, and Pycelle. She knew Ser Gerold was generally trustworthy, but Rhaegar had expressed some uneasiness about Varys and Pycelle, since their motivations were harder to understand. Rhaella looks tired, but also more alive than she has seen her in months. “Queen Rhaella, you asked for me?”

“I did, because I believe that you need to be a part of this conversation.” Rhaella waves her hand to the seat next to her. “Please sit down.” She sits down in the chair and waits.

After a moment, Maester Pycelle clears his throat and says, “I regret to inform you all that King Aerys is dead.”

She blinks slowly. She is the one who poisoned him, but she thought there would be more drama in the king’s death. It is Lord Owen who asks, “How?”

Pycelle clears his throat again. “I do not know. Ser Jonothor Darry sent for me after the king’s attendant informed him that the king had overslept. By the time I arrived, he was dead.”

Ser Gerold leans forward. “You have no idea as to why the king died?”

Pycelle vehemently shakes his head. “I have some ideas. But with no obvious signs, it would take an autopsy to confirm what killed him.”

Varys cocks his head like a bird. “Obvious signs? Do you believe Aerys was murdered?”

“I-“ Pycelle falters a bit before continuing, “It is a possibility. Again, I cannot know unless I am allowed to further examine his body.”

“If you believe that there is a chance that Aerys was murdered,” Queen Rhaella says, in a voice more commanding than she has ever heard from the woman, “you should move forward with your examination, Grand Maester Pycelle.” The old man nods his head.

Lord Symond’s eyes flitter over everyone present. “Should we discuss who King Aerys’s heir is.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Rhaella says in a steely voice that brokers no argument. “From the moment Aerys died, Rhaegar became king.”

“And who is in charge while Rhaegar is absent,” Lord Lucerys asks.

Under the table, she feels Rhaella put a hand on her knee. Her eyes flitter over to the queen and she watches as Rhaella takes a bracing breath, “Normally, it would fall to the queen dowager to manage the throne between the death of her husband and the crowing of her son.” Rhaella then tilts her head forward in a humble manner. “But I am sure that everyone here is aware that I have never had a mind for politics.” Rhaella cuts off any simpering compliments by continuing. “Therefore, I suggest that Princess Elia rule in her husband’s absence. It is a wife’s duty to handle her husband’s affairs when he is gone so that responsibility should fall to her.”

The eyes of the small council quickly dart over to her, likely looking for weakness, so she straights her back and puffs out her chest. “You are right, Queen Rhaella. It is a wife’s responsibly to handle her husband’s home when he is absent. I will be sure to accurately represent my husband in my decisions and to act in a way befitting of the crown.”

Ser Gerold swiftly murmurs his agreement and is quickly followed by Lord Owen and Maester Pycelle. She watches as Lord Varys’s eyes jump from each lord to the next, before he murmurs that it would be good for her to get experience as quickly as possible. She tries not to smirk as Lord Symond, Lord Qarlton, and Lord Lucerys, seeing that they have been outnumbered, give in and agree to the arrangement.

She quickly excuses Maester Pycelle so that he can examine Aerys’s body. After sending him off, she excuses Lord Qarlton and Lucerys since she does not need them at the moment. She asks Lord Varys to keep an eye out for suspicious behavior in case his instinct that the king has been murdered was correct, she was positive that Varys would find no evidence of her actions but she couldn’t just pretend that nothing suspicious had happened. She sends Lord Symond off with stern orders to relocate Brandon Stark and his northern retinue into quarters that are befitting of their station. And lastly, she asks Lord Commander Hightower to assemble, what remained of, the Kingsguard so that she may speak to them.

Sending all of them away leaves her alone with Rhaella, who grabs both her hands in hers. She knows that Rhaella has felt guilty about what her son had done, but she is glad that Rhaella still thought of her favorably. “Your mother used to scold me because I never had much of an interest in politics. And whatever interest I once had died long ago.” She squeezes Rhaella hands. Her marriage with Rhaegar may not be the best, but it was nowhere near as terrible as the one between Rhaella and Aerys. “Thank you for doing this. I’m glad you understood what I needed from you.”

“Thank you, Rhaella, for your trust.” Rhaella presses a kiss to her cheek and leaves her to wait alone.

It doesn’t take long for the Kingsguard to arrive. Her uncle is the first arrive and he squeezes her in an embrace when he does so. After him is Ser Jaime, who smiles at her kindly. Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor nod their heads deferentially at her. Those two were the most loyal to Aerys, so she isn’t surprised that they are not in good spirits at the news of Aerys’s death. Ser Gerold is the last one to enter, rounding out the Kingsguard present in King’s Landing.

They line up at attention and she asks the whole of them. “Who among you knows where my husband disappeared to?”


End file.
